I picked up the document with two fingers, the way you pick up a dirty rag. Diane’s smile tightened. “Take your time, dear. I know reading isn’t your strong suit.” Marcus opened his mouth to defend me, but I squeezed his hand. I’d learned a long time ago that some women only hear the sound of their own voice — until you hand them a mirror.
I flipped to page thirty-two. “Diane,” I said softly, “clause 14.2 waives any claim to Whitlock Holdings, correct?” She sipped her wine. “Correct. My late husband’s company. Off limits to gold diggers.” I nodded. “And clause 18 assigns all subsidiary interests to the current board.” “Obviously.”
I slid my phone across the table. On the screen: the Whitlock Holdings shareholder registry. Forty-one percent of common stock was held by a trust called Rosalind Vance Living Trust. Diane frowned. “Who on earth is Rosalind Vance?”
“My mother,” I said. “She waitressed too. For thirty years. Then she bought quiet little stakes in companies whose owners underestimated quiet little women. She passed last spring.” I let that sit. “I’m the sole trustee. I’ve been the majority silent partner in your family’s company for six months. I didn’t tell Marcus because I didn’t want him to marry a portfolio. I wanted him to marry me in this apron.”
The restaurant went so quiet you could hear the ice settle in her glass. Diane’s wine hand trembled. “That — that isn’t possible.”
“It’s clause 22 of your own prenup, actually. Full financial disclosure required from both parties.” I clicked a pen and slid the document back. “I’ll sign gladly. But you should know — the board meets Tuesday to vote on the CEO’s contract renewal. That would be your brother. I was leaning yes.” I tilted my head. “Was.”
Marcus started laughing — the stunned, delighted laugh of a man realizing he’d fallen in love with the right woman for entirely the right reasons. Diane reached for the papers with shaking fingers. “Rosalind, darling, let’s — let’s discuss this like family.”
“Oh now I’m family,” I said, standing and untying my apron. “Dinner’s on you, Diane. I’ve got a double tomorrow.”
